


The Lone Empress

by scottmon3y



Category: Le magasin des suicides | The Suicide Shop (2012)
Genre: Death, F/M, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Internal Conflict, Monologue, Sadness, Suicide, Widowed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-24 12:41:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13213989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scottmon3y/pseuds/scottmon3y
Summary: Alternate ending/universe where Lucréce doesn't manage to stop Mishima from killing himself. This follows the movie's canon, not the book's.





	The Lone Empress

She was caught in the limbo of her school's swingset. Her mother had broken her promise as usual, but there she was, misbehaving and not minding who knew. She swung too high, and as if a school bus had slammed on the brakes, she flew off onto her face. Her cheeks stung. Tears slipped down them and burned her wounds.

“Mother? Mother?”

She bravely tried to blink it away, giving her new sight. It took a moment for the blurry view of her bedroom to register.

'Oh, it was a dream.' she thought. Lucréce sighed with relief, but shuddered right after. Even though it was only November, the air was as frigid as mid December. Lamenting the high cost of heating, she rolled over and tried to snuggle up to her husband. 

“Mishima?” 

When she opened her eyes he wasn't there. He was nowhere in their bedroom.

“Mishima?” she called again. No answer. What was that crazy old man up to now? He seemed tired when they'd gone to bed. She slipped her glasses on and crept down the hallway. Once she reached the bottom of the stairs she called one last time,

“Mishima?” 

The only response she got was the uneven scurrying of golden frogs in their cases. A light sweat formed on her brow. She slowly scanned over the room, and nearly made it halfway before something caught her eye. Did one of the displays fall over? She squinted but couldn't make out the shape in the dark. She pushed past the hanging nooses, leaned in close to inspect it, and then pulled back with a gasp. 

“But – but -”

The air became trapped in her lungs, clogging her throat and making her eyes burn. She took a few shaky steps backwards before she had to catch herself on the wall. Her hand pressed against her lips, almost as if to pull out the scream trapped in her chest. 

“Oh no... Oh God! Oh my God!”

A month later Lucréce still saw her husband lying on the floor. Her conversation with the doctor played over the memory.

“Please help me! My husband's poisoned himself!”

“When did this happen?”

“I don't know! I just found him this way!”

“I reckon it's too late now. We'll have the collectors come by in the morning. What's your address?”

“No, I want you to come now! You might save him yet!”

“Is he breathing? What's his pulse like?”

“I – I don't – Vincent, check your father's – … Oh God!”

“There, you see? Too late. What's your address?”

She squeezed her eyes shut painfully. When she opened them she was staring at her own exhausted face. She leaned into the bathroom counter with a huff.

'Damn dirty doctor. Useless, useless, useless!' she thought. Hot tears formed in her eyes and dripped down her still stinging face. 'If he weren't such a quack – if he'd have fucking hurried -' She stopped short. She knew better than anyone how fast acting their products were. 'If... if I had hurried...' 

Lucréce bent below the mirror's accusing gaze. Her father had always said that if a second round of bombs dropped she would sleep right through it. Certainly a lazy oaf like her was no match for Mishima's fox like stealth. 

Overcome by another bout of anger, she slammed her fist on the granite counter and glared at the mirror defiantly. Snarling, she looked like a freshly swindled crow. 

“No matter what happens, we must stay alive,” he'd said. “The people of this city depend on our shop.” She'd nodded her agreement and pressed against him. In spite of their mutual sadness, they joined hands and held on. Now her fingers were frozen without the warmth of his. 

“He promised, and now... now...” she mumbled. The distraught woman choked back a sob and reached into her makeup case. She shakily applied her eyeliner despite the tears flowing down her face. After a minute of this she hissed angrily.

“Of course I fell for someone like him! If it were any other man we'd have both been dead and buried long ago.” The neon lights reflecting off her eyes gave her a romantic sparkle. She imagined them both lying in bed, gulping down bottles of poison. Maybe they could've made a celebration of it. She'd have dressed up in her most beautiful gown, and he would walk her down to the only half decent restaurant in town. Their table would be adorned by a bouquet of chrysanthemums, so full and bursting they'd hardly be able to see each other beyond it. They'd blow their entire savings on dinner. They'd stuff themselves with every stupid, over priced thing on the menu.

“Are you ready to leave?” he'd have asked.

“Yes, my darling.” she'd have replied.

They would move the pot of flowers onto the floor and stare into each others eyes as they shared the smuggled glass of poison. The bitter taste would disappear in the sweet embrace of her husband, and they would melt into each other as they faded away from the shithole of a planet that trapped them for so long. 

The rigor mortis would keep them stuck that way, and the collectors wouldn't care enough to separate them at that point. The workers would stuff them into a coffin and send it into the earth. 

“We would be free, and free together.” Lucréce sighed. The streaks of eyeliner drying on her cheeks called her back to reality. 

No matter what could have been, he had inherited the shop they so staunchly kept. And now that he was gone it was up to her to run it until their children could take over. As she looked in the mirror all she could see was his body, still clutching the empty bottle.

“Oh, my Mishima, my only love! Weren't you my brave roman emperor?” she asked. “Wasn't I your confidante?” She whimpered and leaned closer, unable to tear away from the awful sight. “Why have you done this? Why didn't you just wake me up? Why didn't you wake me up!?” She let out a horrible, loud series of sobs. If only he would get up. If only he would put the bottle back on the shelf and laugh at her tears like a deplorable, joking bastard. 

But he didn't.

Lucréce sniffed and checked her watch. 4:37. The service would be starting soon.

'Well,' she thought tiredly, 'I may as well try to look presentable.' She wiped her face clean and started on her makeup again. She did her best not to imagine him going into the ground without her.

When she finally left the bathroom she nearly tripped over Alan, who was standing so that his nose nearly touched the door. Before she could scold him he said,

“Don't be so terribly upset with him, mom. Not with yourself either.” 

“Are you eavesdropping now?” she demanded.

“No, mom. Even Marilyn says she can hear you from downstairs.”

Lucréce flushed and covered her face in shame. Alan gave her a small smile and smoothed out a crease in her dress.

“There's a lot of beauty in life, but it's still not easy to live. I wish dad hadn't quit so suddenly – I miss him. I miss him so terribly -” The boy paused, his voice seemingly caught in his throat. His mother stared, wondering if he'd cry for once. But he swallowed whatever was building and continued, voice stronger than ever. “Even so, isn't it impressive how long he put up with it all? Don't spend too long lamenting it – take it as a challenge! You must keep in mind the good, gather your strength, and survive even longer than he did.”

She stared at his bittersweet face for a few moments. Eventually she brushed him away, seeming the slightest bit lighter. 

“I want that look off your face by the time we get to the cemetery. It's a funeral after all.”


End file.
